


Beautiful, Despite Your Flaws

by JustAnotherBlonde



Series: A Lifetime of Moments [13]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic, Kintsugi, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Puppeteer, Puppets, Sasori's Mother and Father Puppets, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherBlonde/pseuds/JustAnotherBlonde
Summary: On a rainy September evening, Deidara breaks something important and Sasori reveals his most treasured possessions.
Relationships: Deidara & Uchiha Itachi, Deidara/Sasori (Naruto)
Series: A Lifetime of Moments [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878778
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Beautiful, Despite Your Flaws

**Author's Note:**

> this story is one of my favourites. it didn't live in my head for very long before it spilled out onto the page.

It was a chill night, cool for early September. Rain pattered faintly on the skylight, but inside Sasori’s apartment it was warm and dry. Classes started in a week or so, and thus far there had been no new developments in Uchiha family drama. It was just one more normal evening for Sasori and Deidara, one of those perfect nights where everything seemed too good to be true.

Deidara leaned back on his stool and expelled a satisfied sigh.

“Delicious, yet again, mn,” he said, smiling at Sasori. Sasori smiled back as he set his chopsticks down on top of his bowl.

“You’re getting the hang of eating with chopsticks now, my clumsy _gaijin_ ,” he said.

Deidara pushed him playfully and stood to collect the bowls and plates.

“Oh?” Sasori said, eyebrows raised. “Are you doing the dishes without being told?”

Deidara stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve trained me well, mn,” he replied.

The stack of dishes he juggled rattled anxiously as he reached for the one last serving dish. It was a beautiful piece of pottery, purples blending into a deep cerulean at the outer edges.

“I’ll get that one,” Sasori said, his hand darting out before Deidara could touch it. He stood, following Deidara to the sink.

Deidara set the stack down a bit too quickly; the whole thing wobbled.

“Careful,” Sasori cautioned as he gingerly placed the twilight-colored bowl beside the rest. He plucked an apron off its peg and threw it over Deidara’s head, helping him rearrange his long hair and tie the apron at the waist.

“I don’t know how you always manage to emerge from dish-washing looking like you’ve just been swimming. Take it slow, my love.”

“I will, mn,” Deidara replied, snatching up the first bowl and twisting on the tap.

*

It didn’t sound like Deidara was taking it slow. He slammed the dishes around, and frequently muttered “oops” as dishes nearly slipped form his soapy hands. It took all of Sasori’s self-control not to toss aside his book and leap from the sofa which Deidara had “rescued” from a dumpster, insisting that a middle-ground of comfort was needed in the apartment, something between wooden stool and cushy mattress springs.

_Let it go, Sasori_ , he told himself. _He’s a grown man. He knows how to wash di—_

Two sounds reached Sasori’s ears at once:

Deidara’s exclamation of “Oh shit!”

And the heart-sickening crunch of hand-sculpted ceramic smacking tile floor.

“What was that?” Sasori trembled, knowing exactly what it was.

“Um…”

Sasori sprung from the sofa, arriving at the kitchen before he realized he had moved his legs.

“It’s nothing. I’ll buy you a new one, mn.” Deidara’s voice seemed far away.

It was like the scene of a murder: the beautiful serving bowl lay on the floor between them in pieces, its shape utterly destroyed. Bits of white ceramic dust littered the floor like blood splatter from a wound. Something sickly hot boiled in the pit of Sasori’s stomach.

“What have you done?” he said through gritted teeth. He glared at Deidara, who stepped back, as if pushed by the power of his gaze.

Fearful apprehension blossomed on Deidara’s face.

“Come on, it’s just a dish…” he said, but uncertainty permeated his voice. He had been on the receiving end of Sasori’s temper before, but this…

The fire simmering in Sasori’s stomach erupted into his chest. He saw red.

“Just a dish?!” He jabbed his finger at Deidara. His brown eyes flashed like lightning. “You’re so fucking careless! You’re like a child. I told you to be careful, but you never fucking listen!”

Deidara’s eyebrows pinched together but he held his tongue. Sasori continued:

“You’ve never listened. You didn’t listen to your mother and what happened? You lost an eye.”

“What the fuck does _that_ have to do with me dropping a dish?!” Deidara snarled back. His expression turned livid. “I _was_ being careful, mn. It just slipped out of my hand, an accident. I said I’ll get you another one!”

“I don’t want another one!” Sasori screamed. “You have no respect for artifacts. This is the result of that idiotic mentality of yours. ‘Art is an explosion,’ ‘beauty is a single moment’—bullshit! All you do is destroy beautiful creations that could have lasted forever. You enjoy it. It must just fucking tickle you pink! How do you feel now? How do you like this? Is this beautiful, _the last piece I had of my mother’s handmade ceramics shattered beyond recognition_?!”

Silence grew between them. Deidara stared at the pile of shards. Sasori wouldn’t meet his eye.

Drawing a shuddering inhale and closing his eyes, Sasori stepped around the counter and sank onto one of the stools, his back to the kitchen. He hung his head and folded his hands on his lap. Deidara walked around the other side, not daring to step over the hallowed remains. He sank onto the stool beside Sasori and looked sideways at him.

“It was your mother’s?” he asked.

Sasori nodded. A tear leaked from the inner corner of his left eye. He wiped it away.

“She made it.”

In the pause that followed, Deidara flipped his hand over on his knee and looked at Sasori to say: _You can hold my hand, if you want._ Sasori shook his head and looked down at his own hands.

“I used to have a whole set of them. Before my grandmother returned to Japan, I took them from her house. I was living with… _him_ by then.” Sasori drew another shuddering breath, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“What happened to the rest?” Deidara asked.

“I had to abandon them,” Sasori shrugged. “I told you my relationship with Orochimaru lasted for years… I fought with him, left him, forgave him and crawled back to him so many times that by the last time, I’d already accumulated a scattering of things at Itachi’s and figured I’d just move on without whatever I’d left there. Over the years I only ended up with enough to fill two suitcases: a few weeks’ worth of clothes—my clothes, not the ones he’d bought me—a handful of trinkets like that dish… I remember storming through his kitchen one night on my way out and seeing it on the counter. I thought I was leaving for good—I was always leaving for good—so I grabbed it and stuffed it into whatever bag I was carrying… That time I was back in less than a week, but the dish stayed at Itachi’s… And of course I took _Mother_ and _Father._ Their box was one of the first things _—_ ”

“Wait, what?” Deidara was momentarily lost. _Does he mean a box of his parents’ remains?_

Seeing Deidara’s expression, Sasori explained: “ _Mother_ and _Father_ are puppets. My earliest.”

He stood and walked over to his work table. Deidara hopped off his stool to follow. Reaching up, Sasori brushed the fingertips of the oldest two puppets. Deidara hadn’t realized it before, but these two were at the very center of the cloud, like the twin suns of a solar system. They were both about three-quarter life-size, dressed in simple robes.

First he took down _Father_. The puppet had red hair like Sasori’s, eerily so similar in color and texture that Deidara suspected Sasori may have actually used his own hair. He didn’t want to ask about it just then, though. Like all of Sasori’s creations, this one had delicate joints attached to what seemed like dozens of strings—more than seemed reasonable for one puppeteer to manage. Its eyelids opened and closed when Sasori tilted its head. He cradled it in the crook of his elbow, then seated it on the work table.

_Mother_ had soft brown hair that swept past her waist, and a tender expression carved into her face. As Sasori lowered her, Deidara reached for her hand to inspect the slender digits, jumping back in surprise when her fingers closed around his own. He looked up: Sasori laughed and wiggled his hand, the one inserted into the wooden control board linking all of her strings.

“I’ve never seen you manipulate your puppets before, mn,” Deidara remarked.

Sasori’s eyes danced with light as he gazed at _Mother_. “This is when they come alive,” he said in a low voice, slipping his hand into _Father’_ s control board. The loops of strings there formed a complicated network that Deidara couldn’t even begin to unravel. “Sit down: I’ll show you what they can do.”

Deidara walked around the work table to the sofa. Sasori waited until Deidara was settled, then walked out, together with the puppets, from behind the table.

It was surreal. The puppets walked with Sasori, stepping along, each with its own gait. _Mother_ ’s steps were small and a little timid, while _Father_ seemed to stride confidently. _Father_ scanned the room, his eyes blinking at a disconcertingly natural frequency.

_Mother_ gazed at Deidara, then _smiled_.

“Ah! How did you do that?” Deidara exclaimed, jumping up to crouch on the sofa. He tried to follow Sasori’s hand motions instead of the puppets’ movements. His puppet master’s fingers twitched and bent and stretched, lifting and lowering lightning fast, the movements barely perceptible. Each finger controlled two or more joints, and the position of his wrists also seemed to play a part. Sasori performed these miniscule motions as if he had been born knowing them—in fact, when Deidara looked up at Sasori’s face, he discovered that Sasori’s eyes were closed.

_Mother_ reached for _Father_ ’s hand. They smiled at each other. Deidara saw how it was done this time: there were one or two joints in their faces—the cheeks, it seemed—which could lift their neutral expressions into smiles. _Mother_ waved at Deidara on the sofa, then _Father_ reached across and stopped her, shaking his head.

Deidara laughed out loud. “ _Father_ doesn’t approve of me?”

_Father_ ’s head snapped over to glare at Deidara. He raised his index finger and seemed to draw a breath in preparation to speak. He paused, then shook his head again. His shoulders relaxed in an expression of resignation.

“He doesn’t want to forgive you…” Sasori murmured, opening his eyes and meeting Deidara’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Sasori,” Deidara whispered. “Mn.”

_Mother_ and _Father_ slumped. Deidara’s heart stopped—it was like watching them die. He stood from the sofa and walked slowly over to Sasori, who was gathering the puppets up in his arms. Deidara wrapped his arms around Sasori and the puppets, pulling them all into a tight embrace.

“I’ll clean up the kitchen, mn.” Deidara spoke into Sasori’s hair. Sasori nodded.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

*

“Itachi.”

The teaching assistant looked up from his easel and met Deidara’s gaze. Deidara had found Itachi’s eyes unsettling ever since they first met… In the beginning it had been the blood-red tinge to the dark brown of his iris, but now that he’d gotten to know Itachi better, it was the way those eyes always seemed to penetrate right through to Deidara’s mind.

“What is it?” Itachi said, standing immediately, as if he knew something was wrong. _How does he do that?_ Deidara wondered. He grimaced.

“I hate to bother you…mn,” he began. The carefully wrapped package he held behind his back felt like it weighed the world. He stepped into the studio, which was thankfully devoid of students or other teachers preparing for the new semester.

“It’s fine, Deidara-san,” Itachi replied, watching him carefully. “Can I help you with something?”

_I can’t believe I’m doing this…_ Deidara bit his lip.

“Do you know anything about _kintsugi_?”

Itachi’s eyes widened. “ _Kintsugi_? What have you done?”

_He knows! How does he know?!_

Deidara hung his head. He brought the package out from behind his back and set it on the nearest work table, then carefully unwrapped it.

The cerulean-and-purple shards of Sasori’s mother’s dish were layered in towel, each set apart from the other to prevent rubbing.

Itachi sucked in a breath. “What _have_ you done…” he whispered. He looked up at Deidara. “Does Sasori—”

“Yes, he knows. mn,” Deidara answered impatiently. “He was home when I dropped it. But he doesn’t know I’m here. Can you help or not?”

Itachi nodded. “Do you… do you want me to do it? Or do you want to try…”

“I’ll just fuck it up, Itachi, mn,” Deidara said bitterly.

A skeptical look on his face, Itachi picked up one of the shards and turned it over in his hands.

“You really did a number on this…” He looked up. “It’s not hard to stick pieces of pottery back together, but you don’t want to mess around with this technique on Sasori’s mother’s piece before you know what you’re doing. Still… Deidara, you have the skill it would take. You should do it yourself. You should talk to Kakuzu-danna and see if he’ll let you study it as an elective.”

“If I start messing around with it in the studio Sasori will be on to me in a heartbeat, mn.”

“You want to keep it secret from him?”

Deidara turned away. “I think he thinks I threw it out… I didn’t make any promises, mn.”

Itachi pursed his lips, calculating his response. “You’re renting a space by the canal, right? A warehouse?”

“Well…” Deidara’s eye slid sideways and he smirked at the floor. “‘Renting’ is maybe the wrong word to use, but… yes. I’ve got a space for my sculptures, mn.”

“If I tell you what to buy and you can get everything before the weekend, I’ll come over on Saturday to give you some pointers.”

“Eh…” Saturdays were Deidara’s favorite: Sasori usually cooked brunch, then they’d either laze around at home or visit a gallery, returning home for a late dinner _. But I owe this to him._ “Fine. This is more important than pancakes, I guess, mn.”

Itachi laughed. “Sasori does make good pancakes. We can meet in the afternoon if you want to eat first.”

“Well, I’m not inviting you over for pancakes, so you can forget about that. But okay, I can probably slip away around two, mn.”

Itachi blinked. “Right,” he said. “So here’s what you’ll need to get—let me write it down—” He went to his desk to grab a pen and a scrap of paper. “Five-minute epoxy. Get this brand, I’ve used it for years… Using epoxy is not strictly the traditional method, but pieces will hold together better. Have you got a kiln at the warehouse?”

Deidara nodded. _He’s really taking this seriously…_ He wondered once more: _Sasori and Itachi went through so much together… but were they only ever just friends?_

“Then we’ll need a filler epoxy, sandpaper, scraping tools and finally the part that makes it _kintsugi_ : the lacquer and the gold powder—or whatever metal alloy you can find-slash-afford. I can maybe check and see if I have any lacquer left at home…”

Skimming over the list of materials, Deidara had a feeling this would eat into his art supply budget…

“Oh, and we’ll need some broken pottery to practice on.”

Deidara’s eye lit up and his mouth spread into a wide grin. “Wait… Are you saying what I think you’re saying…?”

Itachi sighed, but his eyes seemed to be smiling.

“Yes, Deidara, go wild. Get some whole pieces and smash to your heart’s content.”

“Haha, excellent! Mn.”

“See you Saturday, then,” Itachi said, turning back to his easel. Deidara hadn’t had a chance to take a good look at the painting when he arrived, but now it drew his gaze.

It depicted a flock of crows flying against a turquoise sky. The foreground featured one large crow in flight, wings spread, its eye brightly staring at the viewer. Above the crow… Small, as if far from the viewer, was a man falling headfirst through the sky. His limbs were limp and his eyes were closed, like he had fully accepted whatever fate lay at the bottom of his fall.

Deidara swallowed, thinking about everything he knew about Itachi, what he’d heard, what he’d observed. Words like _murderer, depression, accident, explosion_ and _revenge_ drifted through his mind, as did memories of Itachi diligently explaining that week’s journal article, smiling at someone’s joke, topping an impossible climb, and… coming to his rescue that summer night…

For all the brightness of the blue sky, there was a kind of dark finality to the painting. _And yet_ …

He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

“If you look at it from a certain angle,” Deidara said as Itachi picked up his brush, “it looks as if the crow will catch the man…mn.”

Itachi appraised him wordlessly.

“See you Saturday,” he repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> song: "Flaws" by Bastille


End file.
